


Behind Closed Eyes

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Community: homebrewbingo, M/M, Pack, Pack Dynamics, Rimming, Shared Dreams, Telepathy, The Camaro Is Sexy, Voyeurism, Voyeurism - unvoluntary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, Erica thinks she’s just having a dream. A very hot dream. Or, in which the bond pack has a very peculiar way of manifesting itself when things between Derek and Stiles get...<i>interesting. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "telepathy" in my [homebrewbingo card](http://miya-tenaka.livejournal.com/152803.html). Also, thanks to morganoconner for the support and the beta, and to maybemalapert for giving me helpful comments and advice as well as support along the way. I love you girls.

The first time it happens, Erica thinks she’s just having a dream. A very hot dream. And if it’s just a little bit more vivid and a little bit different than her usual wet dreams, it still has that slight fuzziness that clearly makes it not-real. She doesn’t care though, and enjoys the show.

Derek has Stiles pressed against a tree, his hands holding Stiles’s shoulders firmly against the bark as he devours the boy’s throat, kissing and licking and sucking, worrying the skin between his teeth. Stiles is making little breathless noises and half moans, his hands fisting Derek’s leather jacket, holding the Alpha against him, one leg wrapped around Derek’s thigh.

It’s almost as if Erica can feel it, can feel Stiles’s slender body against her own, taste his skin under her tongue. Under Derek’s tongue. Feel the way Stiles’s leg presses them together, how their still clad erections rub against each other. Stiles’s throat vibrates under Derek’s lips as he lets out a louder moan.

“Derek,” Stiles breathes out, and it sounds so much like a plea that Derek growls possessively.

He slides a hand down from Stiles’s shoulder to his hip, squeezes just a little, just enough to make him gasp. Then he pushes up the fabric so that his fingers touch bare skin. Stiles arches his back at the contact, pushing his hips forward, and Derek hisses releasing Stiles’s other shoulder and uses both hands to open the teenager’s jeans.

Stiles makes a surprised “oh” sound when Derek drags his jeans and shorts down around his thighs, forcing the leg wrapped around him down as he frees his erection. Then he releases Derek’s jacket to reciprocate.

“Now we’re even,” he grins, and warps long fingers around Derek’s cock. His hand is sure, firm as it strokes up and down Derek’s length, and though Erica doesn’t have a dick it sure feels as if she did right now, Stiles’s grip just tight enough, just slick enough from Derek’s pre-come.

Derek captures Stiles’s lips between his, tongue invading Stiles’s mouth as he takes the teenager’s erection in his own hand. They push and shove and stroke and kiss, teeth clashing now and then, and it’s too fast, too rushed, they’re not going to last, neither of them. Erica can feel the building of an orgasm in Derek, and then Stiles is arching his back again, screwing his eyes shut as he comes with Derek’s name on his lips.

She wakes up suddenly, flushed and slightly confused and _so turned on_. She slides her fingers between her legs, remembering the taste of Stiles under her tongue (Derek’s tongue), the smell of Stiles’s skin, the warm of his fingers on her (on Derek). It doesn’t take her long to tip over the edge, and it’s one of the best orgasms she’s ever managed to give herself on her own.

She can’t get back to sleep after that, she’s way too wound up, so she wanders downstairs to the kitchen, once again glad that the Hale house has been renovated and they’re not all leaving in that freaky abandoned train station anymore. She opens the fridge and contemplates finishing the leftovers of last night’s roast, but eventually just makes herself a bowl of cereals.

There are footsteps in the stairs and she can smell Isaac’s scent way before he opens the kitchen door.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, looking up from her snack.

“Uh, no,” Isaac replies with a shy blush. “I guess you either?”

She shrugs, pushing the chair next to her with her foot. Isaac grabs a bowl and a spoon and sits down. She doesn’t mention how he smells of faint arousal and confusion and he doesn’t say anything about how she reeks of sex. That’s the kind of things that get left unspoken in a house full of hormonal teenage werewolves with heightened senses. And Stiles complains they’re all tactless. If only he knew how wrong he is.

It’s about half an hour later when Derek and Stiles get back from their round of the property. They all take turns by teams of two or three ever since they moved here after the whole Alpha Pack debacle was over. Up until then, Erica was sure she’d just had an amazing wet dream, but her head snaps up as soon as her Alpha opens the door.

Derek and Stiles smell of sweat and sex and _each other_.

***

Stiles is pretty sure the whole pack knows Derek and him are, well, sort of together. He’s pretty sure they’ve known from the start, from that first time he and Derek epically made out against a tree and came home to find Erica and Isaac staring at them. But none of them has said anything at all.

For once, Stiles is okay with the whole not-talking-about-stuff, because if any of them asked, he’d have to put a label on this thing between him and Derek, and Stiles just doesn’t _know_ what they are, other than freaking amazing. 

They’re keeping it discreet, whatever “it” is. There’s no public display of affection other than occasional brushes of hands or stares that last a little bit too long, which makes their hook-ups even more fantastic, as if they had to make up for all that lack of intimacy. 

They’re careful never to have sex when the pack is around, though, for everyone’s sake. Stiles doesn’t think he could handle that much awkwardness, knowing they could hear them, maybe even _smell_ them. Nope, no way. So they take advantage of patrols, or sometimes they just sneak out of the house, and usually end up at Stiles’s (where he still officially lives with his dad) if the Sheriff’s not there.

Still, sometimes there’s this awkwardness from the pack, it’s just _weird_. Isaac gets all jumpy and blushes and avoids them, well, avoids everyone really. Jackson used to glare at them, but nowadays he mostly just sulks, except that one time when Lydia grabbed his hand and draged him upstairs, and let’s say they don’t share Stiles’s need for privacy, because even _he_ could hear them.

When the pack is in that mood, though, that mood where even Boyd, who’s always cool and calm and all that, averts meeting Stiles’s eyes, well the worst thing is Scott. Scott, who will look at him with poorly concealed horror and try and find an excuse to make himself scarce. He always comes back a few hours later, calmer, and acts as if everything was cool, and Stiles really hopes he’ll come around eventually, because they’re best friends and it kind of hurts.

Erica claps him on the shoulder as Stiles watches Scott ride off on his bike even though the sun’s barely rising on the horizon. She has that knowing smirk on, and leans maybe a little too close to him, but then it’s Erica, so he’s kind of used to it. 

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, squeezing his shoulder. Her hand accidentally brushes against the hickey concealed under his shirt, making him slightly shiver at the memory of Derek putting it there a couple of hours ago.

***

It worries him that he’s getting used to these dreams. But it’s not as if there’s anything he can do to prevent them or stop them, so Isaac’s stopped fighting against the feelings he gets from them. He still feels like a terrible person, because he isn’t a voyeur, except that it seems he is. Sort of.

But it’s not his fault if the sight of Stiles bending over the hood of Derek’s Camaro is so hot. He spreads his hands flat on the black paint, head turned to watch Derek with an arched eyebrow. He looks the image of debauchery with his shirts riding up and his pants and shorts around his ankles, his ass propped up, as if on display.

Derek is standing right behind him, still fully clothed, and he puts his hands on Stiles’s ass, starts kneading the soft but firm cheeks.

“You look so… filthy,” Derek says with a smirk, looking down at Stiles, who blushes a little bit, but grins.

“And you love that, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” Derek replies, his finger brushing against Stiles’s hole, making him quiver. 

Then he drops to his knees, and Isaac doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand what Derek’s doing, not until Derek buries his nose between Stiles’s cheeks, and no, he can’t really...?

“Derek?”

Stiles sounds surprised and slightly out of breath, and his scent gets even more spicy with arousal. It’s almost overwhelming, the way Isaac can smell it through Derek’s nose, and Derek inhales deeply, taking it in.

Stiles tries to part his legs some more, but it’s impossible, the way his ankles are still trapped in denim. So Derek does it for him, spreads his cheeks apart, the pad of his thumbs pressing against Stiles’s hole and opening him, just a little bit. Stiles whimpers. 

Derek’s a tease, he flicks his tongue over it, quick, and waits, almost grinning.

“And _I’m_ the filthy one!” Stiles complains, but then he’s pushing his ass back, pressing for more contact, or just for _more_. “Derek,” he almost whines, “ _please_...”

Derek kneads Stiles’s ass once more, then he darts his tongue inside Stiles, holding him open, and Derek’s one of those people with a freakishly long tongue and he knows how to use it. Stiles is a wreck, making small, eager noises, one of his hands sliding from the car’s hood to get hold of his cock.

Derek growls.

“Oh, come on dude, that’s just not fair!” Stiles complains breathlessly, but he puts his hand back on the metal of the car’s hood.

“Good boy,” Derek smirks, which earns him a chuckle from Stiles, his whole body trembling with it. 

Derek scrapes his teeth lightly against Stiles’s hole, drawing a surprised shout from him, then slips his tongue back in alongside one of his thumbs. With his other hand, he opens his jeans, takes his cock out. It’s hard and heavy in his hand, leaking pre-come, and Isaac can just _feel_ Derek’s need to push it into Stiles.

The Alpha fishes a small packet of lube out of his pocket. He leaves his thumb buried inside Stiles’s ass as he uses his teeth to rip it open. Derek sloppily lubes himself up as he gets back on his feet. Stiles lifts his head from where he had it pressed against the hood and looks back at Derek. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, and Isaac remembers the feel of his mouth around Derek’s cock.

Derek leans down to kiss him, wrapping his body around Stiles’s back. The kiss is eager, and a bit awkward due to the angle, and Stiles breaks it with a gasp when Derek pushes into him. The Alpha sets a ridiculously slow pace, and Stiles tries to push his hips back, to make things faster, but Derek stills his hips with one strong hand, bracing himself on the hood with the other one.

It’s like torture, Isaac has no idea how Derek can seem so patient when he can feel how much the Alpha wants to pound into Stiles, fast and hard. But Stiles is making all these noises, gasps and moans and whimpers, his nails scratching the paint of the Camaro when his fingers curl. Derek growls a warning, but he’s not really angry. In fact, he grins when Stiles does it again, all smug amusement.

Isaac isn’t sure how long it takes before Derek gives in, either to Stiles’s pleas or his own urges, but when he finally does Stiles stops trying to keep quiet. His moans get loud, and the way he calls Derek’s name is just shameless. Isaac can feel Derek is close, but Stiles’s orgasm takes him by surprise, the way he spasms around Derek drags a cry from him–

And all of a sudden Isaac is awake, coming in his pajama pants. He feels breathless and shocked. He usually wakes up painfully hard after Derek’s orgasm, the connection between them severed, leaving Isaac hesitating between guiltily jerking off or taking a cold shower. It’s the first time that...that he...

_Fuck._

***

This is just getting ridiculous. Isaac hasn’t slept in three days, Derek can _smell_ his exhaustion, and yet every time he tries to talk to him his Beta mumbles that he’s fine and flees. Derek wants to push it, to _make_ Isaac tell him what’s going on, but he’ afraid it might destroy the delicate balance of trust in his pack. He knows they’ve come a long way since the whole mess with Gerard Argent and the Alpha pack, knows that’s they’re more like a real pack now, but still, once bitten twice shy, right?

Derek is growing worried though. Even werewolves need sleep. He doesn’t know what to do and his instincts are telling him he needs to make this right before it gets even worse. That’s why he corners Boyd in the kitchen. Boyd is always calm honest, and he’s smart enough to understand why Isaac’s lack of sleep is dangerous. If he knows anything, he’ll talk to Derek, unlike Erica who’ll just grin at him or make some lewd comment.

“What’s going on with Isaac?” he asks, trying to keep it a request rather than an order.

Boyd’s shoulders slump as he sighs, leaning against the counter.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “He’s not talking about. But given the timing, I’d guess it has to do with the dream on Tuesday night. He’s been avoiding sleep since then.”

The dream? Is Isaac having nightmares? The way Boyd says it, it sounds like it might be something regular, something that’s common knowledge, except that Derek had no idea.

“It’s not your fault,” Boyd tells him, reading Derek’s face as easily as ever. “Isaac knows that. We all know that. You would have done something about it if you could.”

“I...” Derek grits his teeth. Boyd is avoiding his eyes, like he’s slightly embarrassed, and Derek forces himself to relax, to open up. “I didn’t even know he was having nightmares, let alone how bad they were,” he finally admits.

“Nightmares?” Boyd asks, staring at Derek with round eyes. “No, I was talking about, you know, the _dreams_.”

Derek is completely lost, which is not something he’s felt in a long time, so he’s less practiced at hiding it as he once was.

“Oh my God, you don’t know!” Boyd exclaims, and then he laughs. It sounds very slightly hysterical.

“Don’t know what?” Derek snaps, because he has a feeling this is important, and Boyd is just laughing while whatever this is has been keeping Isaac awake. “Boyd, what is going on?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just assumed it was a pack thing, like, an _Alpha_ thing, and that it was only polite not to talk about it.”

“Boyd!” Derek barks, feeling his patience run out.

When Boyd tells him, he almost wishes he hadn’t.

***

Scott isn’t going to lie, he’s glad the dreams have stopped. Because there are things that you should never ever have to see, and the look on your best friend’s face while your Alpha is banging him is, like, at the very top of that list.

Scott had assumed Stiles knew, because Derek might be a bit of a jerk but everyone in the pack could pick up on his genuine feelings for Stiles. And they didn’t talk about it because, dude, _awkward_. So it had been extra-awkward when it turned out that neither Stiles nor Derek had any idea that it had been happening.

Thank goodness Deaton had heard of that rare kind of manifestation of the pack bond. (That conversation is one more thing Scott wishes he could forget, because of course he’d been working when Derek and Stiles came to see the vet.)

At least Scott takes comfort in the fact that he rarely remembers dreams very clearly, and the memories he does have are slowly fading into haziness. Hopefully, in not-too-long he’ll be able to look Stiles in the eye without feeling sort of guilty and uncomfortable.

He’s hoping spending an evening alone with his best friend playing video games might help along in he process. Plus, things are still horrible with Allison, and Scott could do with some bro-time, so that’s like killing two birds with one stone, but with less dead birds and more potato chips.

Scott lets himself in with the spare key Sheriff Stilinski had insisted on giving him when he finally found out about the whole werewolf thing. He’s early, and he can hear the shower running in the upstairs bathroom.

In retrospect, it was probably a very stupid idea to try to scare Stiles the way they always used to before real life got scary, but Scott was going for a nostalgic feel. He doesn’t hear anything over the roar of the water. He doesn’t notice that there are too many clothes on the bathroom floor before he’s tugging the shower curtain open.

There are things that you should never ever have to see, and as it turns out, the look on your best friend’s face while your Alpha is banging him isn’t at the top of that list. No, that would be the look on your mother’s face while your best friend’s father is fucking her against the wall.


End file.
